


Should've Worn Some Armor

by incarn



Category: Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 3
Genre: Character Death, Drug Use, Explicit Language, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incarn/pseuds/incarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does a Raider think about as he dies?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should've Worn Some Armor

He was bleeding to death and a shot of jet still sounded pretty fly.

Maybe he should've worn some more fucking armor instead of some stupid ass belts over his chest and a pair of pants. Maybe then, a bullet wouldn't have buried its dick little way into his stomach. The merc that had so lovingly shot it in him would've gotten a bat upside her pretty whore head.

Everything was way too dark to see, now that all the battery-powered lights were gone. Holing up in the subway wasn't the best idea since no one ever came down here _anyway_. They should've tried staying in the sunlight. Real raiders weren't a bunch of fucking radroaches that skittered underground and took bullets to the stomach so they could slowly bleed to death.

He tried for a sigh and then writhed onto his side when the dick bullet sent out a wave of shockingly bad pain. Right. Coughing hollowly and wincing, he spat out a bit of sour spit and wished for just a little bit of jet.

No way the Rats could die any sort of cool death. He should have seen it coming when he joined up. There should have been a sign on the tunnel, screaming out "THESE GUYS ARE LAME" in messy paint on burnt cardboard. Life should have tipped its hat politely and given him a break, just for once.

But nah. He thought he'd been so awesome, joining up with a badass gang of raiders who named themselves the fucking _Rats_ and called the stupid tunnel they lived in the _Ratway_. No way anybody could fuck with him again, he'd thought. Instead, he'd just spent his time getting high on all sorts of God-awful drugs and screwing Lollipop's brains out.

Said brains were splattered wetly all over his pants after she'd taken a shotgun to her pretty slut face. They hadn't looked like much when they'd first scattered themselves on his shins, but then everyone always joked that she didn't have much of a brain in the first place. Just loose lips and an even looser cunt.

The back of his knee itched and he wanted some fucking _jet_. More blood seeped out of the hole in his stomach and sloshed around in his guts. With every ounce that leaked out, a bit more of his energy sapped away.

He was so _tired_. And dizzy. The only way this particular method of dying was exceptionally painful was because it took for-fucking-ever to come around. It left him alone with thoughts and cravings and a useless body wracked with only a mild form of agony that he could have handled normally.

Fucking bitch merc. It wasn't like they'd even been raiding anything. Just defending turf that no one even passed through. Who the fuck even trumped through a tunnel with signs all over it reading lame shit like "COME IN AND DIE" and "BEWARE" and "RAT RAIDERS RULE"?

Bitch mercs, apparently. All he'd wanted to do today was shoot up some fucking jet and get a blow job from Lollipop.

His stomach cramped and forced out a hoarse groan from behind his teeth. A bit of water sounded good right now. Buffout, maybe. _Something_. Jacksaw usually had some buffout. Last he'd seen of that guy, his intestines had been spilling out of his stomach like rope after that bitch merc's mutt had torn into it.

They really should've warn some damn armor over their stomachs.

Vaguely, he wondered how his sister was doing in Megaton. Maybe she'd actually gotten a job making those damn light bulbs she was so fascinated with. Maybe she'd be buying the battery-powered lights the bitch merc had taken from their hide out. Wouldn't that be a fucking hoot? Bitch Merc hands Delilah one of those metal boxes with a bit of his blood spattered on it, and Delilah frowns but shrugs and wipes it off later when she takes it apart.

Really, really should've... worn some armor. Piece of scrap metal. Something.

He wished he could have a shot of jet. Stupid bitch merc. Stupid dogs. Stupid...

Sunlight.


End file.
